


A Cake with Honey

by Sookiestark



Series: He Who Tastes Love Never Dines Alone [8]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Cake, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Food, Food as a Metaphor for Love, The Brotherhood Without Banners (ASoIaF)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:55:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23840419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sookiestark/pseuds/Sookiestark
Summary: A brief glimpse of Jeyne Heddle and Gendry Waters at the Inn at the Crossroads
Relationships: Jeyne Heddle/Gendry Waters
Series: He Who Tastes Love Never Dines Alone [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1279793
Comments: 3
Kudos: 16





	A Cake with Honey

**Author's Note:**

> So-- I kinda love Jeyne Heddle and I feel alot of her backstory. I don't know- this story kinda begged to be written. Hope you like it.

It is almost night fall. The sun sets slowly behind the bare tree line. She tries to straighten her hair before she goes to the stable. Looking at the sky, Jeyne thinks this might be the last good day they have before the real winter sets in. 

She has been up since dawn. There is so much work to take care of the inn and the travelers, as well as all the orphans who have come seeking refuge. On top of all that, there is also the Brotherhood that comes and needs feeding and care. The sewing, washing, and cooking seems to be endless and there are too few hours in the day to do all the things that must be done. So, she gets up early to try to get it all done. No one knows how early she rises. No one knows but him. 

Since he has come to the inn, he wakes with her in the dawn. In the grey light of daybreak, he builds the fire in the stoves for her, as well as the hearth, before he goes to light his forge.. Sometimes, he will help her get water. They use so much water.. He never complains. He never curses. He is not cruel.

She thinks he is the most beautiful thing she has ever seen. 

Jeyne knows she is plain. She is brown haired and brown eyed. Her hands are red and rough from hard work at the inn. She owns two dresses, one blue and one red. The red has been washed so often it is almost grey. She has a scar that curves down her neck from one of the men when her father ran the inn as a brothel. She does not let herself think of those dark times. Now her father lies underneath the hill and the Brotherhood and her Lady would not let little girls be treated so roughly. This beautiful boy would not allow it. 

Jeyne knows she has clear skin and her teeth are strong and white. Her hair is plain but when it is down and brushed it is shiny. Once, he saw her brushing her hair in the dawn and he watched her. When she looked at him, hard and suspicious, apologies and shame had spilled over his lips. It was then he spoke, “It was so pretty. I couldn’t help but look.”

She had smiled and forgiven him, allowing him to watch her finish braiding it. 

When she looks at him, her heart races but he doesn't see her. Not really.

She spends her days in endless chores, caring for the few paying guests, caring for the children, tending to the Brotherhood. As she does her endless tasks, Jeyne watches him and he is anything but plain, anything but common. He looks like a Prince from romance tales that Tom sometimes sings of, even as he labors sweaty over a forge. His strong hands wielding a hammer and his jaw set with purpose. She wonders what those hands would feel like about her, beneath her thin dress and shawl. 

Her father sold her maidenhead to a hedge knight for a gold dragon. Or was it less? It was not her money to keep and she is unsure how much it was worth. It was not worth anything to her. She was worthless and at least the hedge knight was clean and kind. There were others who were not.

Sometimes before she falls asleep, between her sister and some of the littlest children, Jeyne wishes she was beautiful with long golden hair and blue eyes, curvy and wrapped in fine clothes with soft skin the color of cream. She wants to see this boy look at her with wonder, as if she was lovely. 

The boy does not look at her like that. No one does except Willow, her sister. She looks at her like she was beautiful like she was Jonquil instead of a girl who takes care of orphans and a band of robbers in service of their Lady. 

She doesn't like to think of her Lady. Even as she protects them, Lady terrifies her. 

In her hand, Jeyne holds a plate that has her cake, the cake she made him. With a bit of the honey and the last of the fine white flour, she has made Gendry a cake. It has cinnamon that the Dornish boy had given her the cinnamon before he left. He had been a pretty thing with his purple eyes like a King of old. Thoros told her that in King’s Landing, they have cakes that rise, inches high, light airy things. She wishes she knew how to make such a delicate thing so that she could give him such a delicacy.

Instead, Jeyne made the kind of cake that the smallfolk could make; flat in a pan with a bit of apples and raisins. As Jeyne had made it, she had watched the orphans eyes grow wide with want at such a delicacy. But there was enough stew for them.

She approaches the forge behind the stable, listening to the clang of metal. Jeyne wonders if the boy will know how precious the small that thing is, how costly a gift it was. She has covered it in honey and the smell of the apples make her mouth water. 

He sees her and smiles, putting his work down, “Jeyne.

Holding out her gift, Jeyne speaks, “Gendry… I made you something, something special.” 

When she sees Gendry’s eyes widen, she knows he knows how precious this cake is. Watching him eat the cake, Jeyne pretends he is her husband and that this is their inn and it is just them, no orphans, no Brotherhood, no Lady. Just them. She feels the smile on her face watching him enjoy his simple cake.

As Gendry licks the honey and warm sugar from his fingers, he smiles with his eyes closed, as if they had a secret or were in love. 

She wonders if he can taste the love she has for him in the cake. She wishes he would. She prays to the Maiden to make him love her. But she does not know if the Maiden will hear her prayers. 

He breaks her off a piece “Mmm.. Jeyne, this is so good. Thanks. Take some. Have some please.”

Gendry hands it to her. His thumb is as hard and rough as unpolished wood. She wonders what it would feel like against the flat of her stomach. How he might pull her toward him and kiss her as hungry as he was for the poor substitute for a cake she made him. To be smothered against him in the hay. She imagines the smile they would share as he kissed her in the winter sunlight.

With the small piece she has in her mouth, Jeyne tastes the honey, the cinnamon, the butter, the oil. Her stomach churns at the richness and her mouth waters for more. But the boy has eaten it, a wide grin on his face. “Thank you. Thank you.” 

For a moment, her heart hurts and then like the cake, the pain is gone. Gendry smiles at her, “That was delicious. Gods, you are such a good cook. Thank you, Jeyne.”

For a moment, that is all she wanted a smile and his lips speaking her name. She thinks she should be cold out here on this winter afternoon but she finds herself warm.


End file.
